


Always Did My Duty

by jlovesallfandoms



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, House Stark, House Tully, Pre- A Song of Ice and Fire - Freeform, Pre-A Game of Thrones, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-12 08:45:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11158332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jlovesallfandoms/pseuds/jlovesallfandoms
Summary: "And when Brandon was murdered and Father told me I must wed his brother, I did so gladly, though I never saw Ned’s face until our wedding day. I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty.”A retelling of Catelyn Tully and Eddard Stark's marriage, beginning at Robert's Rebellion.





	1. Dark Wings, Dark Words

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive me if the work's a bit rusty, it has been so long since I have started a new fanfic, and a Game of Thrones fanfic at that. After being a faithful viewer of the show, I decided to start reading the book series, and the relationship between Ned and Cat has always been sweet in my mind. Furthermore, Cat was always looked to as honorable and strong, and so I wanted to explore more into how she must have felt in this troubling time. I looked more into it, and the research compiled was interesting enough to spur me into writing this.

Catelyn Tully was a small girl, lithe and nimble, and was easily able to outrun her younger sister and brother. With her feet swiftly gliding across the stream, the hem of her skirts soaked through, and her unbraided hair raging behind her like fire, at the age of eight and ten Catelyn had never felt as free.

“Cat!” Her brother called after her, his breath heavy and sporadic. Catelyn turned around and placed her hands on her hips, looking at Edmure and Lysa, who had both stopped a league behind her and doubled over, careful not to fall into the river.

“Now it’s not my fault you can’t keep up.” Catelyn japed good-heartedly. She began to walk back to her brother and splashed him, despite his protests. At the age of two and ten her father expected him to act more like a man, easing into his role as the future Lord of Riverrun, but she knew more than anyone you cannot force adulthood upon one who is not prepared, as she was when her mother died. Catelyn was born with a good mind and the sense of duty and honor, but Edmure was still a boy, and no matter how old he would be, he would forever stay a little brother.

“Let us sit by the riverbank,” Lysa suggested.

Catelyn took her brother’s hand and led him to the river’s edge, and sat next to him as her sister did the same. It had felt like years since they all played together like this, in good spirits. In truth, she led her siblings out to the river in an attempt to hearten her sister, who had kept herself in her chambers for the past moon. Her father told her and her brother that Lysa had fallen ill, but she was not a fool, and had suspected the truth, just as well as she suspected the reason why Petyr was sent away in such a rushed manner.

“I missed this,” Lysa admitted, as she kept her feet dangling in the water.

“As did I,” Catelyn agreed, and closed her eyes, allowing herself to truly savor her last moments of peace.

“It’s a shame Petyr is not here with us.” Edmure frowned, staring at his reflection in the river. Catelyn immediately opened her eyes and glanced at Lysa. Oh, her little brother, of course he would ruin the moment and remind Lysa of his absence. It was all done unknowingly, but the act was already executed. Lysa immediately bristled and removed her feet from the river.

“Yes, it is quite a shame,” Lysa agreed bitterly, her hands absentmindedly moving to her emptied womb.

“Why did he have to leave us?” Edmure asked curiously, looking at Lysa for answers. Cat shook her head and silently willed Edmure to stop his questions, but it was too late.

“Mayhaps you should ask Cat,” Lysa said as she stood up, hand still unknowingly over her belly in protection. “If she was nicer to him, if she gave him her favor, if she willed her sweet beloved Brandon not to fight him, he would still be here with us.”

“Lysa, wait.” Catelyn stood up after her sister, but Lysa was already gone, no doubt readying herself to hide so their father would not be able to find and question her again. Edmure looked to Cat in a complete loss of words, but she shook her head.

“Let’s best leave her to herself for now.” Cat suggested and looked to the sky. Clouds were slowly drifting to the sun, turning the river to a darker hue. “We should return to father, he must be wondering where we’ve gone off to.”

And so she let little Edmure lead them back to the castle, playing at being a knight bringing his fair maiden to safety. As they walked, she looked to the grass beneath her. There was some truth to Lysa’s words, she knew. Mayhaps if she had willed Brandon not to duel Petyr, he would still be at Riverrun.

As they entered the Keep, Maester Kym regarded her with a frown and simply relayed to her that her father was waiting for her in the Great Hall. She nodded, and Edmure was sent on his own as she found Hoster Tully sitting in the hall, parchment in hand. His brows were furrowed, and his mouth in a thin line. _Dark wings, dark words_.

“Sit by me, Cat.” Her father called for her, and she did justly so. Without warning, he handed her the fated letter. It was written in a nearly illegible scrawled handwriting, and she had to squint to make out each letter.

Catelyn could feel her heart drop as soon as she read the first line. She looked up, and the room was sent spinning. Surely, this was a jape. It was a cruel jape, a trick sent in malice from Petyr. But when she looked back to her father, his expression held true.

Brandon Stark was dead, unjustly murdered by the Mad King Aerys as he tried to save his father. Robert Baratheon had called his banners, as did the new Lord Stark. The rumours she had heard amongst the soldiers were true. A war was quickening, and a new tide was among them.

“You are to wed the new Lord Stark, Eddard, the second son of Lord Rickard.” Her father stated clearly, with no room for arguments. It was the most sensible move, best for both of the great houses. Her father would not rest until she was the Lady of House Stark, and her intended’s family was now in need of good soldiers. She was to marry a rebel, a stranger she had never met, a man in the shadow of her sweet Brandon.

It was not until her father looked at her expectantly, waiting for her reply that she realized her hands were shaking. He did not expect defiance from his eldest daughter, his Cat. And she replied just as she was expected to.

“It would grant me great honor to wed the Lord Eddard Stark.” Catelyn announced to her father, who embraced her in thanks. Within a moon, she was to meet and wed her future husband, and Catelyn was sent to the Sept to pray to the Gods for their seven blessings. It was not until she knelt in front of her Gods that she let herself weep for the memory of Brandon Stark and the life she was now expected to lead.


	2. The Tully Sisters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cat and Lysa comfort each other as they realize their fates

“Cat, I’m sorry about what happened earlier, you know I did not mean anything by it-” Lysa barged into her sister’s room, only to find her curled into the corner of her bed, the sun gently setting behind her. Her eyes were not closed and she was not asleep, and yet she remained staring at the wall next to Lysa. “What is the matter?”

“Brandon Stark is dead.” Cat spoke plainly, and glanced at her sister to gauge her reaction. Lysa blinked and for a moment Cat could have sworn she saw satisfaction wipe over her face, only to vanish just as quickly.

“Oh, my sweet sister.” Lysa sat on the edge of the bed, and allowed Cat to place her head on her lap. No tears fell onto her skirts, and the two sat in silence for a moment longer, allowing the sun to fully hide itself beneath the horizon, setting their auburn hair alight.

“You must think me so foolish.” Cat laughed mirthlessly as she gathered her hair over her shoulder. “I know how you felt about him.”

“When father first announced your betrothal to the future Lord Stark, I truly idolized you.” Lysa frowned and began to braid her sister’s hair. “I hold no love for him, but now that Petyr is gone and Edmure is too young, all my love in Riverrun is held for you, my dear sister.”

They sat in silence once more, and Lysa could feel her skirt dampen as her sister did her best to silence her tears, which finally began to fall. Lysa sighed and secured her sister’s plait with her own ribbon.

“So what happens now?”

“I am to wed Lord Eddard Stark now.” Cat meekly announced as she moved to lie down on the pillow beside her sister. “I know I need to bring honor to our family, and do my duty… but Lysa, I’m scared.”

“It is okay to be scared.” Lysa whispered as she blew out the candle that lit her sister’s chambers. The two sisters fell asleep in silence that night, one learning to accept her fate, and the other yet unaware of the path ahead.

 

* * *

 

“Wait for me, Cat.” Catelyn had kissed her father’s salty cheek, already dampened by little Edmure’s tears, and sent him off to fight in the war against their king. She rushed to the highest tower in the keep and watched until his horse faded into a spot in the horizon. She always sent her father off to fight wars of the southern lords’ ambitions this way, and each time he had always promised to return for her waiting. She swore this would be no different.

Her sister remained silent and swiftly retreated to her own hiding place, and Edmure was left following his eldest sister around as she did her best to run the household. She had learned to do this after their mother died, but planning a wedding feast, her _own_ wedding feast was an entirely different ordeal. The celebration could not be too grand, as men continued to die every morn. However it could not be too small, as it was the eldest daughter of Riverrun marrying the Lord of the North. Everything had to be planned just right, from the comfort of her family, to her father’s men and the Northern soldiers, to the smaller household bannermen in the riverlands who were bound to attend.

A moon’s turn came and went, and when her father returned home from war for her own wedding, with her betrothed and his own army in tow, Catelyn could not bring herself to greet them. So she watched once again from the highest tower as her father’s men lowered the bridge and the party crossed the moat. She attempted to find Lord Stark in the crowd, but could not discern him from the rest of the soldiers, and so she did not pry any further. Her father held himself in the Great Hall with the Lords Stark and Arryn, no doubt making battle plans. She knew it was no place for herself, and again did not try to see her betrothed. And when her father later emerged to announce that her wedding was to commence the next morning, Catelyn eagerly left the hall before Lord Stark could have a chance to find her.

She did her best to busy herself further with wedding plans, and visited the seamstresses who have been working diligently on the gown for the ceremony. Her dress was commissioned long ago, as she was promised to Brandon Stark, so the announcement that she was marrying his younger brother, still a Lord Stark, made no difference to the gown’s style. It was only a pile of fabric as the seamstresses continued the final touches and finished off the threading, but even though it was not laid out on a mannequin, she could still recognize the beaded trouts jumping out of water on her neckline, to the grey wolves meeting at her bodice. The dress had been commissioned before wartime, and no expense was spared in the design.

She swooned as she thumbed over the raised trout, and she managed a wishful smile, if not somewhat forced. She could be happy, she decided. She had always been prepared to be Lady Stark of Winterfell, and Brandon’s younger brother would make no difference. Her duty was to her people, and she would be a good northern lady. She would make her father proud, and mayhaps she would even make her husband proud in due time.

Catelyn glanced to the other swarm of seamstresses who had sweat collected on each of their brows as they frantically pierced and tore through never ending bolts of blue and white cloths.

“What is that for?” Cat asked, moving towards the silent team. Mayhaps this was meant for a tablecloth, or a gift for Lord Arryn for his attendance at the ceremony. She could surely spare time to help.

“Your sister’s gown, m’lady.” A thin woman replied as she bit through a strand of thread. “Lord Tully had just commissioned the gown earlier this morn, and expects it done by the morrow!”

“Hush now, Gwenys.” An elder lady quickly bit back, “she means no trouble, m’lady. We can handle the task.”

“I was not aware my sister was having a new gown made for my wedding.” Cat replied slowly. It had only been announced to happen after the war was spread to Riverrun, and she was sure her father would not waste more expenses on his youngest daughter if he could help it.

“Lady Lysa is wedding Lord Arryn the same day as you, m’lady.” Another woman quietly answered, with her head still at her work.

 

* * *

 

Later that same evening, with a small pouch in hand, Cat found her sister hiding in her own chamber. Before she even opened the door, she could easily hear her sister freely weeping as she attempted to catch her breath. When she finally entered, she found Lysa with her head down in front of the looking glass, her red hair splayed across the vanity. She did not even bother greeting her visitor, and instead continued to cry. Cat rushed to her sister and knelt beside the vanity, taking Lysa’s quivering hand in hers until it began to still.

“Can you believe it?” Lysa almost shouted between her bouts of tears, “I’m to marry that fat old man. _Me!_ ”

Cat remained quiet and let her sister rage. She could not fathom how Lysa would be able to calm the next morning. At least Cat had a moon’s turn to come at terms with her betrothal to a stranger; Lysa only had one night.

“The household would be so empty! And he’s so _old_. He must be old enough to be our grandfather.”

“I have heard stories of Lord Arryn’s honor. He will treat you well.” Cat quietly attempted to soothe her sister’s pain. Her words at least held some truth; Brandon once told her how his younger brother was fostered by Lord Arryn, and she knew his House words were _as high as honor._ It must be somewhat true.

“I wish Petyr was here,” was all Lysa had to say. She continued to cry until the last light was blown out in the castle. Cat had almost fallen asleep by the time Lysa raised her head from her arms and looked back at her reflection, eyes pink and swollen from tears.

“I snuck in a treat for you,” Cat whispered as she picked up the pouch she originally entered the room with. She was waiting for the right moment to give her gift to her sister, and she knew it would at least provide some comfort. Lysa glanced down at her sister, her interest piqued. Cat smiled and opened the pouch, allowing the fragrant smell to flush the room. “I have lemon cakes for us.”

“I _hate_ lemon cakes.” Lysa frowned and it seemed as if she was ready to cry again.

“I have more. I brought in candied almonds as well, and a honeyed cake.” Cat tore one in half and offered the other to her sister, who ate it in whole. Cat finished her own half in silence and followed her sister, who decided to sit on her bed in exasperation. She handed her younger sister the candied almonds and she decided to divulge in the lemon cakes for herself.

“So we shall be the Lady of the North and the Lady of the Vale.” Lysa said half-mindedly between almonds, looking into the fire her candle provided. More tears began falling onto her pillows. “We shall be so far apart.”

“We will be together for a while.” Cat assured her sister, the entire lemon cake in her mouth as she held Lysa’s hands. She swallowed and continued, “we will not leave until the war is over, and it is safe to travel. We will be safe in Riverrun together.”

This seemed to provide her sister little to no comfort, reminding her of the war spreading across Westeros. Most houses had declared their allegiances now, as the Battle of the Bells forced the king to take the rebel forces seriously. For a moment, Cat silently wondered if Petyr was safe from the war. But she quickly perished the thought, deciding she must put family and duty first.

Lysa took a moment between each sob, and did her best to steady her breathing. She looked from their entwined hands to Cat’s own face.

“Have you seen your betrothed yet?” Lysa inquired. Cat shook her head, and decided not to divulge further, not wanting to tell her sister of her own cowardice in that matter. A braver girl, with a willfulness about her and daring blood in her veins would have snuck down to the Great Hall at that moment to find her husband, to look in his eyes or watch from afar, to at least see the man she was expected to marry. Cat instead stayed beside her sister, remembering her House words. Family always was paramount above all, and her sister needed her. Lysa looked back down at their hands. “I saw mine when father called me to the Great Hall.”

“Maybe one day you will grow to be happy with him, sweet Lysa.” Cat kissed her sister’s forehead and looked back into her mirrored eyes. Lysa did not reply, and instead looked away.

With the emptied pouch placed on the vanity, Cat bent to blow out the remaining candle by the bedside, and did her best to hush her sister to sleep as she cried once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly dialogue, but I wanted to further establish the relationship between Lysa and Cat. I feel so bad because the fandom usually manages to demonize Lysa, although her own story is very sad and easily misunderstood. Cat and Lysa truly did love each other growing up, and I wanted to capture their sisterly relationship.  
> Also, I wanted to explain or rather explore the reasoning behind the cannon fact that Cat and Ned did not see each other until their wedding day.
> 
> This is the last exposition chapter, because next we have a double wedding!


	3. Bride of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting, wedding, and bedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gentle reminder that it gets worse before it gets better

Catelyn’s handmaidens braided her auburn hair in the southern fashion with a tumble of braids adorning the crown of her head and two lone curls dropped to frame her neck. When they were finished, she looked to her sister, who had a team of handmaidens intermingled with servants and seamstresses who all worked in a flurry to finish the seams on Lysa’s wedding dress. When Cat stood to help with the threads, her sister’s lips quivered until she let out a whimper, tears starting to fall onto the skirts. Her hands began to quake as she watched her wedding gown sewn and finished on her body as if offering no way of escape.

“Leave my sister and I,” Cat commanded as soon as the last thread was tied.

“M’lady, your sister’s hair is not yet styled.” A handmaiden protested, surely with orders from her father to hurry the preparations.

“I shall do it myself.” Cat began to guide her sister to sit in front of the looking glass as each person slowly filed out of the chambers. Cat began a simpler braid in her sister’s hair, knowing they did not have much time before her father would barge into the room with their maiden cloaks in hand. When the last woman was gone, Lysa began to sob again, placing her head in her hands. Cat sighed and did her best to gently move Lysa’s body to sit straight. “We must do our duty, Lysa.”

“I know, I know.” Lysa heaved for air between her tears in an attempt to calm herself. She took a deep breath and began to dry her eyes with a glance at the looking glass. “The Eyrie is just so far. And he’s so old, what if I never give him sons? He will hate me, everyone will hate me, I want to just stay here, I want Petyr to come back.”

“No one will ever hate you in the Eyrie.” Cat knew it was an empty promise but there was not much else she could offer. “You are young, and a Tully. You will bear him sons, and they will be your joy.”

“What if I never learn to love him?” Lysa stared into the looking glass for her sister’s reaction, but Cat remained silent. What could she ever say to that? Their mother died when they were young, nobody but her septas offering womanly guidance or advice, and they only spoke of duty, not love.

Their father walked into their chambers as soon as the last braid was tied, veils and maiden cloaks in hand. With nothing else to delay the ceremony, the sisters were rushed to the sept to become Ladies Stark and Arryn.

When the sept doors opened, Lord Hoster Tully limped his way down the aisle proudly with a daughter wrapped around each arm. He had not quite recovered from the Battle of the Bells, but no lord was prouder to send his only daughters off. Each daughter was shrouded with a thick veil made of the finest lace imported from Myr. Lysa’s gown was hastily done with unfinished seams, but the blue and white cloth shone brightly through the sept, skirts flowing down the aisle with ease. Her full breasts were pushed high with the tightly laced bodice, likely with the intention to distract Lord Arryn from the fact that his wife was far younger than he. And yet, Lysa’s own beauty was like a shadow under her sister’s. Catelyn’s gown was beautifully laced and embroidered with care, the grey cloths of House Stark glistening in the light of the sept, and her bodice painstakingly beaded with images of jumping trout and wolves running beneath them. Her long fingers clutched her father’s arm, and she did not realize she herself was shaking until they stopped before her intended.

Catelyn attempted to focus through the spaces in the veil to discern her future husband’s face, to no success. She silently cursed the Myrish lace, knowing the concealment must have been the intention. If she could not see her husband, then she hoped, as he could see her, that she was not a disappointment.

Lord Eddard unsurely took Catelyn’s hand from her father and they stepped aside as Lord Arryn was married first, as the elder man of the honored guests. Cat was not able to see her sister or Jon Arryn, but the marriage was quick, and Lysa managed to keep her voice strong as she recited her vows alongside her husband. Cat could not help but beam with pride at that, realizing that if her sister was able to marry with a sense of duty and honor, then no doubt she would be able to as well.

Lord Eddard said no words to her as he guided her to stand in front of the septon and began to remove her veil. The sudden reveal of the bright sunlight within the sept shortly blinded her, but after a moment she was able to see her betrothed. He had a long face, hair longer and lighter toned than Brandon’s, his height shorter than Brandon’s, and his build less muscled than Brandon’s. Cat did not realize she was frowning like a child until she saw Lord Eddard avert his eyes elsewhere, surely knowing her thoughts.

“You may now cloak your bride and bring her under your protection,” the septon proclaimed. Surely disheartened by her reaction, Lord Eddard solemnly nodded and removed the Stark cloak from around his shoulders to place around her own. He did not try to unnecessarily touch her body or rub her shoulder in comfort, but instead draped the cloak over her with one swift move. Catelyn was instantly ashamed of her reaction, but it was too late. She had already displeased her husband, only moments after meeting.

He returned next to her and the septon bound their hands together in the sight of the Seven. They spoke their vows together, proclaiming their marriage for all the sept to hear. And when it was time to kiss her husband, she did her best not to dream it was Brandon in his place.

 

* * *

 

The music was loud, and the celebration sufficient in cost and size, considering the war that suffocated Westeros. Lord Hoster nobly sat in the center of the main table, each new husband at each side with their wives. Edmure sat at the end of the table next to Lysa, proving a fair distraction from the aging stranger who was now her husband. She managed to spend the expanse of the celebration playing with her little brother, ignoring her husband at the expense of her own happiness. Lord Arryn instead decided to lean over and discuss japes and old stories with Lord Hoster Tully. However, Cat had no distraction to keep her away from her husband. Her uncle decided to sit at any place other than the front table, and instead feasted with her father’s bannermen. So Cat sat alone at her end of the table, with only her husband for company.

She glanced at him for the second time that evening, to realize that he was decidedly looking at every place and at every guest with the exception of his wife. Catelyn squirmed in her seat, crossing her arms on her lap. Had she displeased him? Was her reaction in the sept so conspicuous? She was fighting a battle within her mind deciding whether she should introduce herself first or apologize first as she glanced back at her husband, who also had his arms uncomfortably held atop the table, his posture as awkward as hers. They were both strangers, and he was probably as nervous as she.

“I believe we have never truly introduced ourselves.” Catelyn did her best to make her voice sound smooth and attractive over the loud music. Lord Eddard looked at her direction, unable to maintain eye contact for long. Her hair blazed in the candlelight, her high cheekbones framing her pretty face, her Tully blue eyes pronounced in contrast from her milky skin. In Ned’s eyes he knew he did not deserve her; he knew she was meant for his brother, and yet there they sat, both unsure of themselves. Catelyn tried to lean closer to her husband and continued, “I am Catelyn, my lord.”

“Eddard,” Ned replied far too fast. Was he to offer his nickname, or was he just to reply with his formal title? Catelyn frowned again just as she did when he lifted the veil from her face.

“I hope I do not displease you, my lord.” Catelyn quietly replied, looking down at her untouched food. Gods, give her a sign! With all her heart she wanted to know her husband, she was willing to pray to the Seven to will her to forget Brandon’s memory if only her husband would offer her some hint of character.

When she looked back to her husband, she realized his cheeks were flushed like a boy in a brothel. His grey eyes looked at her with guilt, realizing he was not putting forth any effort to meet his wife. In a bout of courage, he reached for her hand.

“You could never displease me, my lady.” He spoke softly, and when Catelyn looked down at their hands and back to him, he realized he touched her without preamble. He shyly let go to place his hand back in his lap. “I must be the one who displeases you, my lady.”

Cat frowned again, shame washing over her as she realized she had managed to place a wedge between her and her husband in their first moments of marriage. Any sign he offered was quickly dashed with her own guilt at her childish reaction in the sept.

“I am sorry for my reaction in the sept, my lord.” Catelyn spoke plainly, unsure if she was overstepping the boundaries she and her husband had already created for themselves. Not willing to bring up the memory of his dead brother, or her dead betrothed, she simply offered, “you are my husband, Lord Eddard. No matter what put us together, my duty is to my husband, upon my honor as a Tully. You do not displease me, my lord, as you never will.”

Ned was unsure of what to say to that, so he only nodded and looked back at his own plate. Catelyn did the same, and the rest of the feast was spent in silent betwixt the newlyweds. She solemnly picked at her food, displeased at their first meeting. Mayhaps if their marriage could not forge love, then hopefully they may grow warmer in time on the fronts of the promises they made to each other in the sept. It was her duty to bear him sons, and his to protect her. A marriage on duty and honor is better than a marriage on nothing at all.

A group of her father’s bannermen intermingled with Stark and Arryn soldiers offered a distraction as they began to drunkenly stand from their tables and make their way to the head table, standing in front of her father. They could barely stand straight as their servants were sure to keep every man’s cup full.

“My lord,” one of her father’s bannermen bowed and stood up straight at a good distance from the table. “Your daughters have been cloaked, and yet they are not yet truly man and wife. Let us bed them, Lord Tully, and allow the celebrations to continue!”

Cat looked nervously to her sister, who already had her hands wrapped around herself like armor as if it would keep the lords and soldiers from undressing her. The men in the hall eagerly banged their wine cups on the table, shouting and cheering for the bedding to take place. She then looked to her uncle in despair, not knowing what else to do. When he noticed her panicked look from across the room, she pointed her head to her sister, hoping he would understand what she asked of him. Their uncle had always protected them and listened to them when their father was too busy to care, or their mother too sick to comprehend. She knew Brynden would do her this favor, knowing she would be able to handle it herself. It was her sister who needed the protection. He nodded, and began to move closer to their table in anticipation.

“If you all say that it is time…” Lord Hoster looked from his men to his daughters with pride. He knew they would forfeit their pride for the honor of their House, and they would do it because it was as expected. He then stood and clapped his hands, “let them be bedded.”

Before anyone could react, Brynden raced from his place at the table and picked up her little sister over his shoulder, taking her from the hall before any man could undress her or poke at her body. Catelyn nodded solemnly, knowing it would be best for Lysa to be saved from this horror. At the age of six and ten, men would argue it was her duty, but Cat knew otherwise. Lysa was not ready for a bedding ceremony, and at least she did her part to save her sister from this half of the tradition. She could do nothing for what happened between Lysa and Lord Arryn on their wedding bed.

“The Blackfish is a stickler for tradition!” A man shouted in the hall, but her uncle was already long gone. The procession was paused, unsure of how to continue.

“We still have three newlyweds here, ripe and ready for their bedding. Let the celebration continue!” Lord Hoster announced, wanting no trouble in his halls. The men cheered and raced towards Cat the fastest. She did her best not to shout in surprise as one of her husband’s men lifted her up from under her skirts. She fell back onto the support of a lord from the Eyrie, who was doing his best to undo her laces to no prevail. Another man pushed him aside and he decided to ignore the laces, and tore open her bodice instead. Cat did her best to hold the fabric to her breasts, but no one paid it any mind. A man tore it from her hands as they did the same to her skirts and continued to carry her down the hall.

She glanced behind her parade to her husband, who was faring far better than she. There were less ladies in attendance than the men, and were having a harder time to pick at his clothes and decided to push him along the procession instead, still attempting to remove his cloak. Lord Arryn was in the better situation than the two men, however. He was far older than her husband, and less exciting for the women to undress, so they instead decided to push him alongside Lord Eddard, hardly unclothed.

“She’ll do good for Lord Stark’s first!” A man hooted as her breasts were on full display. She did her best to tune out the lewd shouts and comments until they hoisted her onto her wedding bed, at least letting her keep her smallclothes on. Cat quickly retreated under the sheets of the bed, salvaging whatever dignity she had left. The men laughed and exited the room as the ladies pushed Lord Eddard next to her, his cheeks as red as her hair.

“Rut her nice and good, Lord Stark!” Another man shouted from behind the closed doors. Pounding noises and cheers bellowed from outside the chambers, and again Cat tried to ignore it. She distracted herself with a platter of fruit that was placed on the bedside table, and rolled a grape in her hands as another man offered bedding advice.

“Would you like some, my lord?” Cat asked, offering him the platter. From what she could gather, he was just as uncomfortable as she, but he was too shy to say anything to her unless she initiated anything first. As awkward as it was to start the conversation first, it was her duty to ensure the bedding goes on, and he was comfortable enough to give her a son.

Lord Eddard nodded, grateful for the distraction. He sat on the far edge of the bed, and she placed the platter between them.

“It is kind, what you did for your sister.” Lord Eddard spoke to her. Cat looked up from the platter in surprise that he noticed her silent agreement with her uncle.

“I wanted to spare the unnecessary shame from my younger sister, my lord.” Cat replied quietly, unsure if her husband would berate her for breaking tradition.

“Jon Arryn is a good man, my lady. He would offer your sister kindness and comfort.” Ned did his best to placate her worry for Lysa, to no avail.

“As you have offered me, my lord.” Catelyn did her best to smile genuinely, hoping it would ease the situation. Yet again, Lord Eddard reddened at the reminder that she was quite naked under the bedsheet, save for her smallclothes.

“We do not have to do this, my lady.” Lord Eddard whispered to her, so the men outside would not be able to hear. “Spill some wine on the sheets and none would be the wiser.”

For the first time, Cat genuinely smiled at her husband, amused by his sweet offer. He wanted this just as little as she did, she knew. It would grant her great comfort and peace if they would not have to bed that night, but she knew it could not be done. She moved the platter from the bed and placed her hand on her husband’s.

“We are man and wife now, my lord.” Cat proclaimed, “it is our duty to each other and our Houses to sleep together tonight.”

Ned nodded, and she moved closer to him. When they kissed, it was with determination and purpose in mind. When she removed the blanket from her body, it was with duty and hopes for a son in mind. And with each thrust, she held onto her husband and stared at the wall behind him. She repeated her words in her mind like a never ending prayer with each push inside her. _Family_. She silently prayed that tonight would grant them a son, and they would not have to lie with each other again for a while. _Duty_. As his wife, it was her duty to lie under him obediently and offer him her body, and the Gods knew she would always do her duty. _Honor_. On her honor as a Tully, and as her newfound honor as a Stark, she must go through with the pain the night offered.

And despite herself, when he pushed into her a final time with a soft moan and spilled his seed inside her, she closed her eyes and imagined it was Brandon instead.


	4. Let Him Live

When it came time to say her goodbyes to her uncle, Catelyn leaped into his arms, almost able to forget that she was a married woman grown, and not a child once more. He laughed and held her tight all the same, lifting his eldest niece off the grass. When he put her down once more, he gave her the same foolish smile he offered when he last tried to lift her spirits.

“Thank you for what you did for Lysa.” Cat did not look into her uncle’s eyes then, not wishing to further divulge into the subject of the bedding ceremony.

“Your father did not like it very much,” her uncle hooted mirthfully. He looked back down to his niece, who was fidgeting uncomfortably under his gaze. “It is not right what he put you through. He could have stopped it.”

“Father would call it tradition,” Cat quietly offered, making sure none of the men nearby could hear.

“Piss on tradition. The Targaryens have been wedding brothers to sisters for thousands of years. That does not mean we should practice it.” Brynden spat at the ground for extra effect. Cat remained quiet, unsure of how to reply. He sighed and pat his niece’s hair as if she were two and ten. “I have already told your sister this, but I will be accompanying her to the Veil once the war is won.”

Cat did not comment on his confidence in the war, but only smiled. She would miss her uncle, but they had to part eventually. It would do Lysa good to have family near her.

“Promise to visit me in Winterfell.” Cat begged and Brynden kissed the top of her head.

“Go now, little Cat.” Her uncle bid her away, “as much as you love your favorite uncle, your husband must be awaiting your farewell.”

Cat frowned, but hugged her uncle once more with his promise that he would return safely to Riverrun before he left for the Eyrie. She walked through the company and finally found her husband at the front, tending to his horse. Lord Arryn was next to him, and Lysa awkwardly bid him farewell and good luck with a stiff smile and lackluster embrace. Cat sighed and stood beside her own husband. Their wedding night was disastrous, but she hoped their marriage was not beyond repair. She hated herself every moment remembering her thoughts when he spent himself inside her, and prayed to the Seven as soon as he left her room that she would have the ability to forget the memory of her late betrothed. Her and her husband’s bedding was of duty rather than passion, and she hoped one day their marriage could become more than an empty promise.

“And after only knowing my husband for one night, I am expected to send him off to war.” Cat attempted to make a lighthearted jape, but at the core of it she knew it was true. She may or may not become a widow after so short a marriage, and this very well may be the last she would see of her husband.

“My lady,” Lord Eddard greeted her with a nod, turning away from his horse. When she was close enough, he had the courage to look both ways and lean to her so no one would hear him whisper, “I hope you are well despite… last night.”

Cat did her best to hold in her laughter. Her husband was a sweet man, however naive he was in the matters of women. He cared for her wellbeing, and almost let her forsake the bedding altogether.

“I am quite well, my lord.” Cat genuinely and mirthfully smiled, “although your concern does hearten me.”

Her gracious husband blushed at that, and for a moment a small glimmer of hope bloomed within her.

“I do hope you return alive and well, my lord.” Cat said with honesty. She placed her hand over her husband’s, hoping she did not overstep.

“When the war is over, I shall send a letter for you to meet me at Winterfell.” Lord Eddard smiled to her then mounted his horse. “I am afraid it is much colder than what you are used to, but I shall have the warmest room in the keep prepared for you.”

Cat almost wondered how far it would be from his, if she was expected to give him heirs after all.

“Then I will eagerly await your letter, my lord.”

“You may call me Eddard, my lady.” He acknowledged their titles from atop his mount.

“You may call me Catelyn.” She smiled in reply, hoping and wishing he would go into war remembering this meeting rather than their wedding night. And so when the servants opened the gates and the party rode off into the woods, Catelyn watched from the highest tower until her husband’s horse was no longer in sight.

 

* * *

 

When a moon’s turn came and went and her moon’s blood was skipped, Catelyn gave it no thought. When another moon’s turn passed and she had run from the dinner table to gag when poultry meat was placed before her, she knew something was wrong with her body. She raced to reveal her illness to her sister, who confided in her that she had missed her moon’s blood as well. When they walked to Maester Kym hand in hand to announce they both suspected pregnancy, they left the maester’s tower beaming with excitement and pride. The next morn, they sat together in their mother’s empty solar, Cat with a grey cloth and Lysa with a blue cloth in hand, both women with the intention to sew a baby’s blanket.

“It is a gift that we only had to lay with our husbands once before our wombs began to quicken,” Lysa demurely stated as she spun a red thread into her needle.

“I hear it will get easier,” Cat offered as she began to embroider her grey cloth with a white wolf. Of course no one gave her this advice themselves. It was only what she heard servant girls gossip in between tasks.

“I cannot see how, but no matter.” Lysa placed her fabric on her lap for a moment and smiled at her sister, all teeth and joy. “So Cat, what will you name the child of yours?”

Cat laughed, glancing to her little sister. They both knew it was not up to them to name the child, let alone the firstborn heir. It was always the husband’s responsibility to conjure a strong name from the family line, but that did not mean the sisters were not allowed to dream.

“I would like to name him Grover or Edmund, both good Tully names.” Catelyn wistfully looked from her sister to her own grey cloth between her hands and sighed. “But Lord Eddard would most likely prefer the name Robert, after the king he now fights for.”

“You are so confident the babe will be a boy.” Lysa stated with her eyebrows raised curiously.

“Perhaps it is only wishful thinking, but I have a sense it is a boy.” Cat placed her hand over her quickening womb.

“As do I.” Lysa giggled and continued to embroider her own cloth. The sisters stayed there until nightfall, laughing about the gift the Gods decided to grant them for the troubles they have endured.

A moon’s turn later, Cat decided it was time to write her husband of the news. He was still fighting his king’s war, but she knew her father was aware of his location, and would be able to have the letter sent. She sat at her vanity that night, trying to find the words to convey how she felt.

_Lord Stark,_

No, that was far too formal. Cat groaned and crossed out the greeting, efficiently having another paper on hand.

_My husband,_

Cat crumpled this parchment as well, deciding it was far too informal. She sighed and retrieved her last sheet of parchment, deciding this would be her final attempt.

_Lord Eddard Stark,_

_I pray this letter finds you in good health. It seems that the Gods have blessed us on our wedding night, and my womb already grows with our child. I hope you may meet him soon when the war is over, and we all return to Winterfell._

_-Lady Catelyn Stark_

She looked over the parchment, wondering if her signature was uncalled for. It was odd signing her name with her husband’s House, but it was what she was. In the sight of the Seven, she was a Stark, just as the child growing inside her was a Stark. She went to her father and handed him the letter with the promise that her husband would receive it within a fortnight. She fell asleep in her sister’s bed and when she awoke in the middle of the night, it was on a bed of blood with Lysa’s cries of pain.

 

* * *

 

Nothing was the same after Lysa lost her child. Brynden was fighting at war and she could not run to him and cry. Edmure was too young, and would not be able to understand. Their father was too proud, and would claim- when it was only the two of them in the room- that it was her fault. And Catelyn, her sweet sister, freely roamed about the keep as her belly continued to grow, a vision of motherhood and beauty. Sadness cut deep like a sword into Lysa’s heart knowing that she too could have been as happy with a child.

So Catelyn spent the rest of her pregnancy often alone, never able to find Lysa. Even as a child she liked to hide deep within the keep until only Uncle Brynden could find her, but now no one had the ability or the time. She did not want to be found. Cat spent her days playing with little Edmure, letting him pretend at being a knight or a prince, and sitting with her father in his solar, as he treated her with updates on her husband’s status in the war.

And when it was time for her babe to enter the world, Cat remained on the birthing bed, and looked out the window before the pains became too unbearable. Her husband, who she had only known for one night, was fighting a war against their king, against the royal family. If the rebels were to fall, what would happen to him then, to Cat, to their child? Mayhaps their child would never know his father. Cat placed a protective hand over her womb. She could not afford to think like that. She must give birth to their son, and when she would present it to him, in their snowy castle far to the north, mayhaps they would find it in their hearts to grow to each other.

When the sun fell and the hour of the wolf was upon them, it was finally time to push their child into the world. To her surprise, Lysa entered the birthing room at that moment, and offered to hold her hand as she screamed and fought through the pain.

“I did not think you would be here,” Cat whimpered as her sister wiped sweat from her brow.

“I would not miss this for anything, sweet sister.” Lysa smiled a sad smile, knowing it should be her by Cat’s side, ready to birth her son as well.

Her son was born within an hour, and when the maester placed him in her arms, she knew she had fallen in love with the sweet boy. He had the Tully look, a tuft of auburn hair at the top of his head and eyes as blue as hers. It was not until a year later that she would look upon his Tully features and wish that he looked otherwise, but for now all was at peace. She wanted to give him happiness, she wanted to give him love, she wanted to give him the world. She knew from that moment on, she would give anything, and do anything for her son, her first son.


	5. Gentle Mother, Font of Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rebellion is over, and it is time for Cat to bring her son to Winterfell.

Not long after her son’s birth, a raven arrived at Riverrun’s gates. Cat watched as Maester Kym brought it to her father, and she clutched her child closer to her chest. She knew the raven sent news of the war, of her son’s father. Hoster told Cat the night before, as he bounced his grandson atop his knee, that the war was to end soon. The rebels were to lay siege to King’s Landing, and Cat spent the rest of the night praying to all the Gods she knew to let her husband return home safely, if not for her, then for the sake of their son.

Lord Hoster exhaled and slowly unravelled the parchment, and Cat could only watch as his eyes studied the dark words.

“The war is won, my dear.” Her father smiled and kissed the forehead of his grandson. Cat smiled as well, and took her son to her chambers, telling him that he was to meet his father soon.

Yet when Uncle Brynden briefly returned to Riverrun, no letter arrived for her to meet her husband at Winterfell. She asked her uncle, but he did not know of Lord Eddard’s whereabouts. After they reigned victorious at King’s Landing, Brynden returned to escort his niece to the Veil. Instead, he recited to her war stories and acts of heroism committed by her husband.

“He is a good and honorable man, Cat.” Uncle Brynden comforted his niece as she wrapped her son in the blanket she had sewn in the Stark colors. She looked at her boy then, realizing it was so strange to see her Tully son encased in a grey and white shroud. She decided it did not suit him.

“I hope that is true,” Cat sighed as she attempted to rock her son to sleep. She could only dream, after only knowing her husband for one night before she sent him away.

And a moon’s turn later when the letter finally arrived that her husband was ready to receive her at Winterfell, her belongings were packed within the night and she was ready to leave the next day. Cat had already said goodbyes to her brother, who would not stop crying until dawn. When it was time to leave, Lysa stood next to their uncle, also ready to depart and meet her husband.

“Would you like to hold him?” Cat offered her son to Lysa for the last time. On the night of his birth after he was well fed and asleep, she asked if Lysa wanted to hold her nephew, and she was reduced to tears, no doubt remembering her own son who did not live to enter the world. She had run out of the room that night, but Cat wondered if for the last time before their departure, she would wish to finally hold the newborn.

Instead, Lysa gave her sister a sad but sweet smile, and shook her head in refusal. The wound was too fresh, too painful still. Cat nodded, and let her uncle hold her son as she pulled her sister into a tight embrace.

“Please, don’t forget to write me.” Cat begged her sister when they finally let go of each other. Lysa gave a short nod, her eyes no doubt forming tears as Cat entered the carriage and was handed her son. When the horse began to move, Cat looked out the window and balanced her son on her knee, allowing him to have one final look at Riverrun, which would forever be his mother’s true home, and his birthplace. She kissed his forehead, and placed another on the Tully hair which continued to grow atop his head. “Are you ready to meet your father, my love?”

 

* * *

The ride to Winterfell was long, and cold. She was weary and travel, and longed for a bed, but the nerves she felt knowing she was to see her husband again kept her awake. The closer she neared the castle, the colder it got. And to her surprise, snow peppered the ground in the days of summer! Cat looked out the carriage window in wonderment, amazed at the new home she was to live in, which she only could think of in her wildest fantasies. 

Brandon once told her that Wintefell was heated by hot springs, which the castle was built atop of. Cat listened to him with wonderment, not able to believe such a wild story. The North was an untamed land, she could tell, and she wondered if anyone had ever been foolish enough to attack the castle in the middle of winter.

The gates to Winterfell opened, and Cat took a deep breath in an attempt to ready herself for the arrival. She was dressed in a deep blue gown and a velvet cloak, which were the only warm clothes she possessed. There was no need for fur-lined dresses or coats in Riverrun, and now she felt dearly underdressed.

She exited the carriage herself with her child in hand, and stared at the amazement of the castle walls. Melted snow from the night before still laid atop the roofs of each building, and the sky above was as grey as the colors of her husband’s House. She bounced her son into the air, who was now awake, and surely looking at the unfamiliar world around them as well. When Catelyn looked back up, each person in the castle was staring at her, at their lord’s strange southern wife with red hair.

She instantly held her son closer to her, cheeks burning. She was not welcome in the North; they did not trust Southerners so close after the war, and their lord went and bought a southern bride home. 

Her husband found her then, dressed in a leather jerkin and a cloak lined with fur pelts. His face was more solemn and weary than the day he left Riverrun. Catelyn smiled and let Eddard hold their son for the first time, hoping whoever was watching could see that she did her duty as a wife and bore him a son already.

“Would you like to meet your son?” Cat gently placed her little boy in Eddard’s steady hands, who did not hesitate to embrace him with a sad smile.She continued, “I thought we would name him Robert, after our new king.”

Eddard frowned at that, and Cat was only left to wonder what horrors he was forced to watch his friend commit in the name of war.

“We should call him Robb instead, my lady, if that pleases you,” he replied after a moment’s thought. Catelyn pursed her lips, noticing he decided not to address her by name. But no matter, she decided the name Robb suited their son more than the king’s name.

“Then it shall be known that our son is named Robb Stark.” Catelyn declared pompously, hoping she would get a laugh out of her husband. 

“He is a beautiful boy, my lady.” Eddard spoke in awe as he moved the Stark blanket to reveal their son’s auburn hair.

“He is just as much yours as he is mine,” she said, despite herself, wondering if she assumed too much. She knew most lords did not partake in raising their children, but she wondered what sort of father her Northern husband would be.

Eddard looked away from her then, and gently placed the boy back in her arms. She kissed Robb’s forehead, overjoyed that her son finally had a name, and a name different than the king her husband followed into war. With a determined look on Eddard’s face, he began to lead her into the castle and to the nursery so she could place Robb in his crib. She silently followed him, unsure of what to say or what could have been said. He began to say something before he opened the dreaded door, before she could see what or who lied inside, but before he could finish, Cat’s heart fell as she saw a midwife with a babe in her arms.

The wedded couple remained silent, neither daring to say a word as the lady meekly excused herself and placed the child into its crib. Catelyn shivered, suddenly aware of the ice within the castle that managed to find its way to her heart.

“Who is that, my lord?” Cat attempted to ask, but her voice was far softer than she intended. Her husband averted his eyes from her in shame. A pregnant pause filled the room until her husband finally replied.

“He is my son.”

Catelyn clutched her own son closer to her chest, willing for this to all be a dream, even a terrible nightmare that she would wake from.

“ _ Robb _ is our son,” Cat declared for him to hear, but he did not reply. She placed Robb in his own crib and looked upon the child which was on the other side of the room. She looked at the horror her husband displayed to her face, the single act of dishonor and betrayal which he decided to bring into their home. “Will the boy not live with his mother?”

Ned exhaled and looked at his wife at that moment, and she waited for the longest moment for his answer.

“Jon is my son and you will ask me no more of this.”

Cat slowly nodded, looking back from her husband’s bastard then to his face, searching for anything in Eddard’s grey eyes that would let her hope live. But she found nothing.

“If you will excuse me, my lord.” Catelyn coldly replied as courteous as ever, letting whatever closeness they had before crumble. She curtsied, and practically ran out of the room, letting her husband watch over his wife as she left him with the two children, wishing that he could tell her the truth, wishing that he was not forced to do this.


	6. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it gets worse before it gets better.

Cat was not aware she was running until she stopped before a grand tree made of red leaves and white bark which tangled into the ground beneath her, the carved face laughing at her foolishness. She looked around, blissfully unaware of how she came about there or how to return to her rooms, which at the moment only felt like a cage. The tree only mocked her as she moved to the clear lake. There were no rivers in Winterfell; there was nowhere to run or hide. She felt like a child again for thinking she was lucky enough to have a husband that would honor their marriage vows. It was a stupid dream, a dream that she never should have imagined. She should have learned the day Brandon died not to put any thought into her childish fantasies.

When her father had told her that her betrothed -the very man she had courted since she was only a girl- was murdered, she married his younger brother, a stranger she had never known, because it was her duty. When she met him on the steps of the sept that fated morn, she married the solemn man because it was her duty. When she gave her body and her maidenhood to the stranger, she lied under him willingly and silently because it was her duty. And when it was time to return her husband to his war and send him to his usurper king and his paramour that bore him the bastard, she did so because it was her duty. 

Her uncle spoke praises of her husband’s honor, but she found none. When she bore him a son, he bore her another woman’s.

“Have I not been a good bride? A good lady? Have I displeased him so?” Catelyn asked softly, testing the theory that the Northern trees have ears. She had no one in Winterfell, and nowhere else to cry to. “I gift him with a son we made together on our wedding night, and he gifts me in turn with his bastard he made in the damned war.”

The trees rustled and a gust of wind picked up where there had been none before. Cat clutched her cloak closer to her body, relishing in whatever warmth remained. She looked back to the carved tree and it stared back at her as if to whisper,  _ leave, leave, leave. _

“My lady,” an unfamiliar voice called her name. Cat stood from the ground and straightened her Tully blue gown, only to be greeted by a young man dressed in a similar fashion to her husband. He had hair as long as Eddard’s but he was shorter and his hair darker. She vaguely remembered the boy from her wedding. He continued as he saw her, “have you gotten lost, my lady?”

“Has Lord Stark sent you?” Cat inquired, only allowing herself to address her husband in the formal matter.

“Lord Stark told me to make sure you were safe, and to escort you back to the castle once you felt ready.” 

Catelyn frowned, suddenly annoyed for the most peculiar reason; surprised that he cared enough to send someone looking for her. Any other lord would have punished their wife for her outburst, and all of a sudden Cat felt even more like the stupid little girl playing games on the riverbend.

“We best not keep the Lord waiting.” Cat sighed and wiped the grass off her traveling cloak. The boy nodded and gingerly walked her back to her rooms, offering her as much silence as the grave. She was not sure if he was scared of her, or if he simply did not want to bother. When they stopped before the final door in the hall, he turned to her, likely to point out her rooms. It suddenly struck her on why his face looked so familiar. He was the very same young man who tore her bodice off her during the bedding ceremony.

“What is your name, ser?” Catelyn asked, suddenly determined for whatever reason.

“I am Jory Cassel, my lady, a member of Lord Stark’s guard.” He looked somewhat uncomfortable and shy, and his cheeks began to blaze as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Satisfied, she simply thanked him, and he opened the door for her and excused himself, sprinting away.

Catelyn walked into the room, suddenly greeted by a waft of warmth. At least her husband kept one promise; she had the warmest room in the castle. She glanced out the single window offered in the room and watched the northmen and women do their work, carrying the firewood on their backs, forging their steel and iron swords, carrying whatever grains managed to grow in the North, and herding whatever animals that managed to live in the cold weather. 

With a sigh, Cat fell into her bed, her energy suddenly vanishing. She glanced at her hands, where her long delicate fingers were gloved. 

“You foolish little girl,” Cat whispered to herself and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear as she began to cry. She longed for her sister, for her uncle, for her brother, and even for her father. What would her sister do in this situation?

Cat remembered how she practically ran from her husband then, like a girl running from a nightmare. He was her husband, and it was within his rights, she knew. It stung, but she still knew it was true. Her husband may love another, but at least she still had Robb, her sweet little Robb. 

She left her room then and found her way to the nursery, a few doors down the hallway. The bastard was gone from his crib, likely being fed by a midwife or wet nurse or whichever her husband employed. But it did not matter to her at that moment. Taking Robb from his crib, she held him in his arms and glanced at his serene face, captured in a dream.

She knew she did not belong in the North. She was a daughter of the south, taken where no southerners were welcome. She was a Tully of Riverrun, and yet her people must think her as something less than great. She would prove them wrong. She would show the northmen how strong a Tully woman could be. It was her duty, and Catelyn Stark always did her duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse the brevity of this chapter, but I feel like we had to gauge her reaction in order to get the plot moving, and I thought this was a good place to end the chapter, story-wise.
> 
> This chapter is very upsetting, but I just want to say that I do not want to sugarcoat their relationship in this fic. I want to portray the rocky beginnings to the even worse reunion, to their eventual trusting friendship to love. Everything has to happen first before they can learn to love each other, let alone trust each other. It does get better, and it will be a happy fic, but first I had to lay out the situation.
> 
> With that said, I hope you still keep on reading. Thank you.


	7. Lady of Stone

Moons since Cat’s arrival at Winterfell had passed, and the castle had not grown warmer to her presence since. Whispers spread across the keep of the lord’s wife who was too cold to warm his bed, of Eddard’s infidelities, and of how the bastard had more of the Stark look than her own son, their own heir. Yet as much trouble as Cat came across in her new home, her relationship with her husband fared no better.

The most she and her husband spoke since her arrival were a few words in passing whenever they would be unfortunate enough to pass each other in the hall or eat their meals at the same time. He was not able to look her in the eye, and she assumed he was allowing her to grieve as much as she wished until she was comfortable enough to make her own choice to speak with him. 

She was not yet ready to forgive him, not when she showed him their son and he showed her his own. She did not have the ability to forgive her solemn stranger of a husband yet, but she decided it was time to put the castle’s gossip to rest. She would be respected as the Lady of Winterfell, and she would not let whispers in the night tarnish her honor. She would do her duty, the duty of a wife, and lie with her husband that night. Her septa always told her she must give her husband an heir and a spare, if not out of love, then out of duty to House Tully and House Stark.

She found herself standing outside the door to her husband’s chambers then, realizing that her body led her there in a fury, but the realization of what she was to do sobered her mind. She wore a deep green gown, nothing extravagant, but something she commissioned once she arrived in the North. The garment was made of warmer material, and she knew the deep color complimented the red in her hair. She decided this would not be the same as her wedding night. She would not will her eyes closed this time, and she would not bite her tongue to distract her mind from the pain. She was prepared this time, and she was determined.

“Fulfill your role,” she whispered to herself so only the cold winds could hear. “Duty. Honor. Wife.”

She gently knocked on her husband’s door and let herself in once he grunted in reply. He was sitting at his writing desk, looking over a handful of letters while the candlelight dimly lit his tired eyes, which instantly widened with surprise and embarrassment when he realized it was his lady wife who entered his chambers far into the night.

“May I keep you company, my lord?” Cat curtsied and kept her distance, not wanting to shock him. “My room is proving rather cold tonight.”

It was a blatant lie. Her husband gave her the warmest rooms in the castle, but she needed an excuse.

“Would you like me to call the servants to help heat it more?” He asked, ever so gallantly.

“That is not needed. I'd like to stay here for a while, if my lord allows.” She rose from her curtsy and awaited his reply, hoping he would not bash her pride further.

“My lady, you may call me Ned,” he replied quietly. She hoped her surprise was not written on her face.

“Then you must call me Cat.” She smiled, satisfied with the progress they managed to make. He looked back at her, not knowing what to say. Guilt reflected clearly on his stoney grey eyes. The situation was awkward at best, and he was clearly uncomfortable. She had to remedy that, if she ever wanted to do what she intended. “Are you having trouble, Ned?”

He looked at her in confusion, either unaware of what she meant, or astonished that she actually said his name. It was odd to hear his name off her own tongue, and was not quite comfortable enough to say it normally yet, but she must learn eventually. Yet Ned was only the name that his little brother affectionately called him, and no one else. She hoped one day she would be comfortable enough to call her lord husband by that name without unease.

“I meant with the records.” She walked closer to him and motioned to the papers on his table, which were illuminated by the candlelight. 

“It would not be proper to ask your help in this.” Ned looked back to his desk in exasperation. “I would not wish for you to be troubled by this tonight, either.”

“Don’t be so foolish, I would like to help.” With his approval, she took a single paper on his desk, realizing he was trying to organize the ledgers and records of Winterfell. “When my mother died, I was expected to act as the lady of the House, and helped my father keep track of the records of Riverrun as well. I can teach you how to organize them.”

She saw her husband blush then, obviously deterred that his wife knew more on the matter than he. But bless him, he allowed her to help. She sat beside him, careful not to sit too close as to perturb him, and advised him as her father and her uncle once did, making sure he first kept stock and transcribed each paper then tediously placed them in order. No one had done this since the rebellion began, as he was at war and Benjen was too young and was never taught to do so. They must have spent hours at that table, letting the candles that lit their workspace dwindle down slowly. 

“I do not think I was ever meant for this,” he admitted as Cat bound together the last ledger.

“You learned everything within a night.” She smiled and stacked each record they managed to finish. “I would say you are a fast learner.”

She looked at him then, realizing he was staring at the wolf sigil carved into the table. He must have been thinking of his family then, his brother and father who were murdered by the Mad King, and of his sister, kidnapped by the prince. He was right; he was not born to be the Lord of Winterfell. When his family died, he was thrust into the role without preamble, and given a wife that was meant for his brother.

“You will become a fine Lord of Winterfell, Ned.” Cat quietly recited, her heart understanding her husband’s for the first time. He was as reluctant and unprepared for his future as she was. She grew up expecting to marry Brandon Stark, the heir to Winterfell, and he grew up expecting to never be Winterfell’s lord.

“Do you miss him?” He asked her, not looking away from his sigil. She knew he did not ask out of jealousy, as there was no malice in his voice. He only wanted to understand.

“I only knew that he was gallant, and was promised to me since the day I flowered.” She admitted, not shadowed by false assumptions of duty or honor. She wanted to speak to Eddard, she wanted to know him. “But he was your brother. I cannot imagine your loss.”

Cat allowed herself to sit on his bed as he finished the last record on his own. She fell asleep that night as her husband recited to her stories of his wild older brother and of his little sister, and she let herself listen. Cat intended to lie with him that night to conceive another son, but instead fell asleep whilst acquainting herself with him. No kisses were exchanged that night, another son was not conceived, and yet she was content.

* * *

 

Two nights passed before the gossip about the Lady of Winterfell dissipated, but before Cat even began to wallow with pride, the whispers swiftly changed to the subject of the bastard’s parentage. She was eating in the kitchens the first night it happened. It was late and she did not want to trouble anyone to set the hall for her to eat, so she raided the pantry until she found candied almonds, the dessert that she often ate when she missed Riverrun too much. While she ate her snack quietly, two women openly talked in the Great Hall, likely cleaning the mess of the previous meal.

“Mayhaps it was Lady Ashara.” A girl with a shrill voice laughed, delighted in her gossip. “Wyllis tells me that the Lord was fascinated with her at the Tourney at Harrenhal.”

“It must be. After Lord Stark slew Ser Arthur Dayne and brought his sword to Starfall, the lady jumped off the highest tower. It must have been out of the horror that her lover killed her brother.” Another girl said, her voice lower and calmer. 

“How poetic.”

“How romantic.”

Catelyn sat alone in her bed that night, dread twisting in her stomach. She knew it was common for a man to father a bastard; it was known that even the new king had one. Yet it was entirely different to welcome the child into your own hearth. She could have and would have overlooked his bastard, if only Ned had not brought the child home.

The next morning as she fed her son, Cat looked upon the bastard boy in his crib. He was pale, as was her husband. He was black of hair, which she realized could either have been of Stark blood or Dornish. Paranoia tugged at her as she place Robb back in his crib. She walked closer to Jon’s. His eyes were closed in sleep, and Cat wondered if while she was pregnant with her husband’s son and heir, he was making love to Ashara Dayne. Her husband must have loved the bastard’s mother deeply to defend her honor, to bring their son to his home, and even to refrain from revealing her identity to his own wife. She wanted to touch the bastard’s skin, but retreated before she could as if she was singed by fire or ice.

She went to her husband’s rooms a fortnight later, as she often began to do out of habit. She helped him with the records of Winterfell and assisted him in replying to foreign traders and lords. When she lied on his bed, as she did before he would begin telling her stories of the North, she spoke up.

“May I ask you something, Ned?” Cat meekly asked, not wanting to look him in the eyes. 

“What do you wish to know?”

Cat knew she should not ask, she knew it was not her business, she knew it was unbecoming of her, but jealousy pierced her as deep as a sword. She willed her mouth to stay shut, to excuse herself, or to even ask him a completely other question, but it was all for naught.

“Is Ashara Dayne the mother of Jon?” As soon as she asked, the room froze for a moment in silence, with only the chills of the Northern winds rasping on the window. She looked up at her husband then, once soft grey eyes hardened into steel. 

“Where did you hear this rumour?” He demanded from her, rushing to her side. He raised his voice for the first time she had known him, and sounded as terrifying as winter itself. Cat shrank back as if he slapped her, but he may as well have. She looked at him in fear, wondering if this would be the night Eddard Stark would strike his wife.

“I do not know who said it. They were in the other room.” Catelyn felt tears prickle in her eyes, but willed herself not to cry in front of her husband. 

“Never ask me about Jon. He is my blood, and that is all you need to know.” Lord Stark said, again letting whatever hope or beginnings of companionship wither to nothing. Cat nodded demurely, heart as empty as stone. “And now I will learn where you heard that name, my lady.”

“I was in the kitchens, they were in the Great Hall!” Cat helplessly admitted, only hoping that Lord Stark would let her go free that night. He nodded, but still looked at her as if she were less than the cattle outside their walls, less than the woman the mother of his bastard would ever be, less than Ashara Dayne.

“Never say her name again,” He warned her. She nodded once more, knowing whatever courage she once held had dissolved in her fear. “Leave this room.”

She did just as her husband ordered, and rushed to her room, crying for the first time since her arrival. She could have been truly happy, if only she did not have the gall to ask. She felt as foolish and as stupid as the day she arrived in her new Northern home, and fell asleep longing for the grass and the warmth of Riverrun, wishing for the love of Lysa and young Edmure. In years to come, she would remember this night as the first and last time she feared her husband. But at that moment, she realized she was not ready to go near him again anytime soon. When she awoke the next morning, she did not hear whispers about her, or Robb, or Jon, or Ashara Dayne. She never heard the Dornish woman’s name uttered in the castle of Winterfell again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, another sad chapter. And again, I remind you, it must get worse before it gets better. I do not want to make the beginning of their relationship seem happy and romantic, because it was anything but. At least you get a hint of what could have been in the beginning of the chapter, but this event actually did happen in the series, and was specifically stated as, "the only time in all their years that Ned had ever frightened her" (AGOT Catelyn II). As sad as the scene is, it happened, and I can't ignore it.
> 
> And as sad and bleak as their relationship seems right now, it is only the beginning of it. I plan to fully honor and show them trusting each other and loving each other, but it is a journey they had to go through. It did not happen magically. Both man and wife were hurt in the process, and I want to honor that rather than ignore that so it would only serve to show how great their marriage grew to be.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope this was not too upsetting.


	8. Lady Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life went on.

The harsh cold of the North was starting to become of Catelyn, as she familiarized herself with the icy winds and nature the castle treated her to. She only had two handmaidens, as it was not customary in the North to have an extravagant amount, and they only did their chores silently without speaking. The cooks served her meals and regarded her with pity in their eyes. They heard their Lord raise his voice, and gossip spread as it ought to do. She had no friends in the North; she only regarded her husband as a cold stranger. A moon’s turn had passed since the fateful night, and Cat made it a point to avoid Ned’s presence unless absolutely necessary. It was a cycle that suited Cat fine, although she was well aware time was passing before she would inevitably have to lie with him to produce another child.

Catelyn received her first letter from her sister on a particularly cold day, the same day that Robb uttered his first word: _mother_. She tore open the envelope gingerly as soon as Maester Luwin offered it to her. Winterfell’s maester was a quiet man, but kinder than she could remember Maester Kym ever being. The morning after she ran from her husband’s room, Maester Luwin awoke her with a warm cup of brewed tea with a promise that it would get better. He was the one person she was comfortable talking to, and when needed he would offer her history of Winterfell and the Stark family. She thanked Maester Luwin for the letter and rushed to her rooms to read it by the fire.

Her sister was once again pregnant. She also wrote of how she barely was acquainted with the old man she calls her husband, but was happy that their uncle stayed in the Eyrie. Catelyn began to write a reply, hoping the child would offer her sister joy and companionship as Robb offered her. She however did not mention her status in Winterfell and her own relationship with Ned. There was no need to trouble her sister with her own drama, and did not want to admit life in the North was tearing down her wits. She had no family in the North, only her son.

That night, Catelyn awoke from her sleep to hear Robb crying from the nursery. She did not bother to change out of her thin nightgown, and instead began to tiredly stalk towards the nursery, still half asleep. She did however cover her body and recoil as soon as she saw her husband in the nursery, as if he did not see her body before. Lord Stark was already hushing their son and gently bounced him on his shoulder.

“He does not seem hungry, he is just in pain.” Eddard whispered to her, not to disturb their son or his bastard sleeping in the other crib. “Maester Luwin tells me that Robb has started to grow his teeth, so it is normal that he would cry more often.”

“You do not need to bother yourself at this hour of night, my lord.” Catelyn said, willing her arms to shy away from her chest. “It is a lady’s task to care for the child, not the lord’s.”

“Robb is my son.” Eddard replied without thought. His declaration meant more to her than he ever could imagine, and more than it should have. It was the first time he openly declared Robb as his own in such a manner while Jon was beside him, even if he did not notice. He looked from his boy to his wife, “I spend time with him out of my love for the boy, not out of duty.”

Whispers of shame tingled at her spine as she realized all she ever loved was out of duty, and any advances she made towards her husband until that point had simply been out of duty. She remained silent as Eddard successfully managed to lull Robb back to sleep and place him in his crib. They both retreated to their separate rooms that night, never approaching the subject that she had dared to mention before, or his outburst. Catelyn fell asleep that night wondering if she could ever learn to love anything in her cold home if she was not supposed to love out of duty.

* * *

 

More time passed in the cold castle she called home. Uneventful days turned into moons with the same routine. If anyone wished to find the Lady of Winterfell, they only need search the nursery or her own rooms. Robb kept her good company, as he was learning new words from her, and she eventually found out he was learning new words from his father as well, when Robb simply addressed her as _Stark_ when she came to play with him one morning. She and Eddard found a rhythm in their own routines, separate as they were. They only kept each other’s company when it was necessary for appearances, meals, or on the chance they both happened upon the nursery at the same moment. There was less malice in the air between them, quickly replaced with the acknowledgement of each other’s presence. There was no familiarity or compassion between the lord and lady, only duty and a son. She depended on him to protect their House and their son, and he depended on her to care for their son and keep the castle running. It was a mutual understanding, something that Cat learned to accept. The foundation of their marriage was not built on love like the stories or songs. It was a marriage most lords and ladies were expected to have, and something neither Cat or Eddard tried to change.

Catelyn sat in her rooms, licking the last of the sugary bread off her fingers. She often still thought of home- of her _real_ home- in Riverrun. She still longed for her sister and brother and uncle and father, but she accepted her own fate. There was nothing she could do about her new life rather than live in it. She heard a soft knock on the door, which she replied for the guest to enter. Maester Luwin walked in, a sealed letter in hand. He looked from the empty plate ridden with crumbs to her sticky fingers.

“I must ask, is there an occasion my lady?” He chuckled as she wiped her hands on her skirt.

“It is my nameday.” Cat smiled as he handed her the letter, stamped with a Tully wax seal.

“May you have a blessed nameday, my lady.” He nodded his head graciously. “I assume this is your nameday congratulations from your family in Riverrun.”

She thanked him, and as soon as he exited the room, animatedly tore off the seal to the letter. It was written in a sprawled handwriting she did not recognize, but scanned the writing to find it was from little Edmure. He wrote of how he missed her, and how the castle felt empty without her and Lysa, and suddenly Cat felt herself once again longing for the warmth of her home. She kept that letter with her all day, even when she was to dine with Eddard in the Great Hall. He greeted her as usual, and they went on with their meals, occasionally mentioning Robb’s great feats of the day such as a new word or a hint of a new tooth. When it was over, a scullion bashfully walked to them with a fresh lemon cake on a dish.

“The maester has informed us that it is your nameday, m’lady.” The woman smiled. Cat felt her cheeks set ablaze as her husband looked at her dumbfoundedly. The scullion walked back to the kitchen, with no one to save her from an excuse.

“I am sorry I was unaware it is your nameday, my lady.” Eddard’s cheeks also equally reddened, embarrassed that he never asked or was told. The cake remained untouched between them.

“It is not such an occasion.” Cat attempted to push aside her chagrin as she cut herself a slice, hoping it would take the attention away.

“How old are you now?” Eddard slowly took a slice of his own.

“It is unbecoming to ask a lady her age, my lord.” Cat giggled despite herself. Eddard was quick to apologize before she assured him it was only a jape. “I have seen twenty years now.”

She took another bite of her cake. Her nine and tenth nameday had passed with a hush during the rebellion, before their wedding. The castle had other things to attend to, and her father was away fighting for their new king.

“That is an important milestone, my lady.” Eddard looked down to his plate. He was only a year older than she. They were suited for each other in age, which was also something most lords and ladies would not be able to say. He was silent for a moment before he looked back at her again. “Would you like to tour Winter Town tomorrow with me?”

Cat almost choked on her bit of cake. In the time since she had arrived in Winterfell, she had never ventured outside of the castle’s walls. No one ever offered, and she never asked.

“I would not want to make such a fuss over my nameday.” Cat hid her cough with a handkerchief strategically placed on her lap.

“I was planning to tour the town soon anyways. It is good to visit the people, and listen to them individually. It would be good for you to come with me.”

Cat managed a shy smile and accepted his offer, for once excited for what the next day in the North had to offer her.


End file.
